


These bruises will heal

by rottnrotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Ron Weasley, Bittersweet, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Legilimency, M/M, POV Ron Weasley, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 15:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottnrotty/pseuds/rottnrotty
Summary: I haven’t seen him in ages.Not more than a passing glance.  A flash of blond hair, or a glimpse of sharp jawline.  The sweep of a well-tailored robe.  The faintest whisper of his cultured voice, carried on the wind.I knew this time was coming.  I had both dreaded and yearned for it for years. The day I’d have to face him, no excuses.The day my heart would break, all over again.





	These bruises will heal

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, have you ever decided to stretch your writing skills by writing a “quick” little bit of porn, for practice, and have it develop into a monstrous fic full of feelings and weird plot and angst? Yeah, I feel you. I get it. I can’t not be wordy. 
> 
> Self-edited (just me reading it over a bunch of times), sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Dialogue at the very end (Ron and Albus) taken directly from DH epilogue. Otherwise all words are my own.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

September 1, 2017 - Platform 9 3/4

I haven’t seen him in ages.

Not more than a passing glance. A flash of blond hair, or a glimpse of sharp jawline. The sweep of a well-tailored robe. The faintest whisper of his cultured voice, carried on the wind.

I knew this time was coming. I had both dreaded and yearned for it for years. The day I’d have to face him, no excuses.

The day my heart would break, all over again.

~~~***~~~

18 Years Earlier - France

Being an Auror was hard, don’t let anyone tell you different. It was exhausting and disheartening and just ruddy thankless. I should have realized, from Moody’s diligence and demeanour, that there was little in the way of glamour in the position. I pictured becoming an Auror as a great adventure. A continuation of the escapades of our youth.

Merlin, was I wrong.

My Senior partner, Morty Murdoch, was an alcoholic. The type of guy who bollocksed up the smallest thing, but took credit for every successful mission. I fucking hated him. Didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

Which led me to my current dire predicament.

Stuck in a country where I didn’t speak the language; no notes, no contacts, no credentials, and no real idea what the fuck I was doing. Murdoch was MIA with the case files, the list of potential allies, and basically anything useful that could help me at all.

My only real option was to tuck my tail between my legs, hoof it down to the French Ministry, and beg for help. Hopefully they would agree to contact the British Auror office, despite my lack of paperwork.

That would have been the smart choice, but when had I ever been accused of being smart? Instead, I took my last few Galleons, and headed to the pub on the ground floor of my hotel. It was a potential meeting point for the people we were after. Maybe I could salvage the mission somehow.

I slipped nonchalantly into the pub, sidled up to the counter, and promptly ruined any hope of remaining inconspicuous. “No. No fucking way. Is this all an elaborate joke at my expense? The Universe can not hate me this much”.

My abrupt explosion prompted every head in the pub to turn my way, and I felt my neck and ears flush and burn with embarrassment. The man in front of me, the source of my ire, just raised one pale eyebrow and quirked up the corner of his mouth, before saying, “nice to see you too, Weasley. What are you doing here?”

I choked on my own saliva as I contemplated the audacity of it all. Draco Malfoy, questioning me, one of the Ministry’s own Aurors? “Wh-wh-what am I doing here?” I sputtered. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

The barkeep appeared in front of us at that moment, and I tried to order a fire whiskey. I got a snort and a sneer in response. Malfoy leaned over the bar, and said smoothly, “deux whiskies de feu s’il vous plaît,” in perfectly accented French. It figured he’d be fluent in the local language. Bloody wanker.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” I ground out as I watched him slowly sip his drink. The smirk he gave me set my blood boiling, and I threw back my fire whiskey in one large gulp. “Come with me,” I said, grabbing his arm and yanking him from the pub. I apperated directly into my room.

“Still a Neanderthal, I see,” Malfoy sniffed. He made a great show of adjusting his clothes and smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

“Still a pretentious prick, I see,” I sniped back. But the longer I looked at Malfoy, the more I realized that I was wrong. Malfoy wasn’t dressed like a stuck-up twat. There wasn’t a pressed trouser or tie to be found. Instead, he was wearing a pair of Muggle denims, black and distressed and sinfully tight, topped with a slogan T-shirt that read ‘chez toi ou chez moi?’  His feet were adorned with black slip-on runners covered in white skulls.

“I’ll just ring the Aurors, shall I?” he asked, the classic Malfoy sneer marring his features. “After all, you did kidnap me, and force me into your room against my will.”

“Get over yourself, Malfoy. I am an Auror, in case you didn’t remember. And I’m just doing my job, trying to find out what you are up to.”

“A likely story,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “I bet you’ve gone rogue, and are harassing innocent bystanders for no good reason.”

His remarks hit a little too close to home. I didn’t want the French Aurors involved. Not yet. Time for damage control. “Look, I’m tired and cranky. I’m sorry I took it out on you. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect to see you here, did I? Bit of a shock, that was.” I shrugged my shoulders and admitted, “Maybe I overreacted a bit.”

I expected Malfoy to make a big stink, to carry on with his threats for a while longer, so I was surprised when he shrugged back and said, “I wasn’t shocked. I saw you check in a few days ago, with that old, smelly man. Maybe I’m just more observant than you.”

 _Or maybe you don’t have to babysit a grown souse old enough to be your grandad,_ I thought. Damn Murdoch to the fiery pits of hell. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” I asked wearily.

He studied me with his cool grey eyes for a moment before answering. “Living my life.” Another shrug, just one shoulder this time, as he looked at me defiantly. “There’s nothing illegal in that, I trust?”

“Of course not.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my hand over my face. Could my situation get any worse? Here I was, stuck in a dodgy hotel room, trading barbs with my school-day nemesis, while an important case went unsolved. “But are you aware that your parents have filled a missing person report with the Ministry?”

Malfoy made a derisive noise. “I’m an adult. I’m entitled to do as I please.”

The room filled with an awkward, stilted silence. I hoped that Malfoy would just leave without further prodding, but instead he said, “so, let’s see. You are here on Ministry orders, on a mission. You are stuck in a foreign country where you don’t know the language. Your Auror partner has fucked off with all the case files, leaving you high and dry. Oh, and the French Ministry doesn’t know you’re here.” My eyes popped back open and locked on Malfoy. He continued smugly, “how close am I?”

I was making a habit of stuttering around the man. “H-how...how in the fuck did you know that, Malfoy?”

“Maybe I won’t tell you,” he teased. My hands bunched into fists, and he seemed to read my mood, because he said, “I’ve been visiting the Ministry with my Father since I can remember. Murdoch’s always been a drunk old fool. They pawn him off on some new graduate every few years. It was easy to guess the rest.”

I was truly fucked. “So you’re gonna rat me out to the local authorities? Grab some glory for yourself while making me look bad? It’s your lucky day, right Malfoy?” I couldn’t even muster the appropriate angry response, I was just so tired. No, not tired. Defeated. This case was important, damn it, and my last hope to solve it just disappeared at the appearance of Draco fucking Malfoy.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to turn you in, Weasel.” His gaze turned calculating. “Maybe we can help each other. Meet me in the lobby at ten tomorrow morning.”

He used the door to exit my room before I could answer. I threw myself onto the bed and wrapped myself up in the top blanket, fully clothed. Meeting Malfoy seemed like an incredibly bad idea, but what other choice did I have?

~~~***~~~

When I stumbled into the lobby at quarter past ten, Malfoy greeted me with a pinched expression. He shoved a warm takeaway coffee into my hand, which I sipped on gratefully. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” He led me out of the hotel, a few blocks down the road to a small public park, where he sat on a bench and gestured for me to do the same.

“I’m going to help you with your case,” Malfoy said pompously, like he was bestowing a great honour. “In return, you will keep my whereabouts secret. Deal?”

“No deal. Why would I want your help?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m extremely clever.” Oh sweet Merlin, Malfoy was still a conceited git. “I demonstrated last night how intuitive I can be. Plus, I am fluent in French, and have connections all over this city.”

“Sure. But you’re not a Ministry employee,” I said, holding up one finger. “You have no investigative or law enforcement training.” I added a second finger. “And most importantly,” I said, thrusting three fingers in his face, “I don’t trust you. I can’t work with someone I don’t trust.”

“Oh, you trust Murdoch? He’s been such a good partner to you? Like a second Father, I expect?” Malfoy scoffed. “Look, I know we have history.” It was my turn to scoff, and he grinned a bit before continuing, “but we are adults now. I’m talking about providing translator services, maybe helping you establish persons of interest, that sort of thing. Not investigating your whole damn case.” He looked almost bored as he asked, offhandedly, “what are you working on, anyway?”

My stomach roiled a bit when I thought about it. “Well...I can’t tell you all the details.” Malfoy studied his fingernails, seemingly unimpressed by British Auror business. “But, it has something to do with illegal potions. And young children. And...well...kidnapping, imprisonment, and test subjects.”

Malfoy’s head jerked up, a look of abject horror on his face. “Salazar,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, sinking low into the bench. It was a fucking mess, honestly. Most of the investigation was taking place in England and Scotland, but there were rumours of ingredients being smuggled from France. Murdoch and I had been sent to dig into it. Everyday Murdoch remained missing was another day a young witch or wizard’s life was in danger. It was a heavy burden.

“Forget what I said, about translator services,” Malfoy said, waving a hand dramatically. “I’m in, whatever I can offer, in whatever capacity you need.”

I took a deep breath and looked at the blond to my right. Really focused on him. Malfoy was leaning forward on the bench, tightly strung with nervous energy. His eyes were wide and crisp, scanning my face. His cheeks flushed pink as I regarded him, but he didn’t drop his eager gaze. He seemed genuine, but one large problem remained. “While that’s an incredibly generous offer, I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Malfoy nodded, and swallowed. “I’m willing to make an unbreakable vow,” he said solemnly.

Godric’s sac, an unbreakable vow? That was some serious shit. “Really?” I squeaked.

“Yes,” Malfoy replied hesitantly, before repeating, in a much firmer voice, “yes. If you promise to keep my identity secret, and not inform anyone of my whereabouts, then yes. I will do my best to help you, in whatever way I can.”

“Now it’s a deal,” I said impulsively, shooting him a tentative smile.

And that’s how I found myself hand-clasped with Draco Malfoy on a misty spring morning in France, blue eyes locked on stormy grey, making unbreakable promises to each other.

~~~***~~~

“So, I may have acted a bit of a prat last night,” I said sheepishly, breaking the silence as we walked back to the hotel. I cringed inwardly with embarrassment, as I remembered the huge scene I made when I first laid eyes on Malfoy. Definitely a low point in my Auror career. “I’ve probably bollocksed up all hope of remaining undercover. How will we possibly explain what happened?”

“We’ll tell the truth,” Malfoy replied smoothly. “That we went to school together, but didn’t get on so well. We didn’t expect to see each other so far from home, but are glad to reconnect and find some common ground.”

Malfoy was quick. Impressive. “That’s good,” I admitted somewhat begrudgingly.

“Of course it’s good,” Malfoy replied smugly. “I came up with it.” He must have caught my look of distaste, because he gave a small huff and said, “sometimes the easiest explanation is also the most believable one.”

We had learned something similar in Auror training. Stick to the truth, or as close to it, whenever possible. The more lies added to the story, the more tangled and convoluted it became.

Had Malfoy always been so clever? I snuck a look at him out of the corner of my eye as we strode down the street. He certainly looked different than he had in Hogwarts. Like a regular, well-dressed Muggle. In place of the robes and school uniform I associated with the Slytherin, Malfoy was wearing charcoal grey trousers, topped off with a lightweight navy pea coat and cream scarf. His outfit put my ratty denims and windbreaker to shame. His hair was different, too. Longer, and loose. It looked soft and touchable, as opposed to the slicked-back style he favoured as a boy.

“See something you like, Weasley?” Malfoy murmured, and I realized that my sneaky peeking had turned into full-blown staring.

I decided to take a page from Malfoy’s book, and stick with the truth. “Just trying to figure you out,” I replied, refusing to be embarrassed. “You’ve changed.”

“I’ve matured,” he corrected. “As have you.”

That I couldn’t deny, so I sent him a nod and a tentative smile. We came to a stop in front of the hotel. “Care for some lunch?”

“I’ll come to your room at seven,” Malfoy said, ignoring my invitation. “We’re going out tonight. You’ll need my help dressing appropriately.”

“What? No,” I flustered. “I can dress myself, thank you very much.”

“Can you, though?” Malfoy asked, turning on his heel and stalking into the hotel. “Seven o’clock,” he called authoritivly back over his shoulder.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed that much,” I muttered to myself, before continuing down the street in search of a bite to eat.

~~~***~~~

Malfoy had a never-ending supply of slogan t-shirts. That first night, he knocked on my door at exactly seven, sporting a tight red tee with the phrase ‘J’adore’ in white script across the chest. He waved a black shirt with a snake on the front at me. “Nope, not going to happen,” I said, shaking my head at him vigorously.

He rolled his eyes and threw the shirt at me, which I caught on reflex. “Trust me. Just put it on.”

Since trusting Malfoy with my case was a much bigger deal than going clubbing in a Slytherin shirt, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Once on my body, the graphic on the front morphed from a snake into a roaring lion. “Wicked,” I grinned, looking up at Malfoy in time to catch him grin back at me, just for a second.

My worn denims were deemed wearable, and we hit the club scene, where informants were rumoured to frequent.

It turned out that Malfoy and I made a great team. He was a demon on the dance floor; all loose hips and sinewy body movements. Malfoy had them worked up and barely remembering their names after just a few songs. I played the awkward tourist, which wasn’t too much of a stretch, really. I came over to the table, handfuls of drinks, and acted all eager and over enthusiastic, coaxing out info they didn’t realize they were giving. It worked a treat.

We’d sleep in, then get together in my room in the afternoon, pooling our intel and making plans for that evening. I found it surprisingly easy, to work with Malfoy. He was a lot like Hermione, actually; sharp and spirited, cunning and clever, with a tinge of ruthlessness thrown into the mix. Plus, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, even hungover and wearing baggy jumpers, like he was want to do when it was just the two of us.

Still, after a week of basically living in each other’s back pockets, Malfoy remained a mystery to me. It took me a bit to realize that while he was polite and interested in the anecdotes I told about friends and family back home, he never contributed any himself. Not one mention of his parents, or friends, or even an ill-timed romance.

Yet Malfoy seemed to know dozens of people at every club. And, perhaps more shocking, they actually seemed to like him, and find him good company. It was an other-worldly experience, watching Malfoy interact with his new friends. He was open and gracious, free with his smirks and hugs. I was beginning to think I didn’t really know the man at all, when I was basing most of my assumptions on evidence gathered at Hogwarts.

And then, there was the dancing.

Malfoy danced with everyone. Bloke, bird; it didn’t matter. Malfoy’s body moved against each partner like liquid sin. He had always been a beautiful flyer, on the Quidditch pitch, but on the dance floor, he was a new level of grace and sensuality. He drew the eye of everyone in the club, mine included, and it left me feeling a little off kilter.

On a particularly slow night at the club, Malfoy collapsed into the chair across from me, casting a hasty Aguamenti charm and gulping down the contents of his glass in long, deep swallows. “Having a good time?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound petulant. The club was pretty dead, and I had been sitting alone for about a half hour watching Malfoy tangle limbs with a variety of fit people on the dance floor.

He shot me a grin, all lip and no teeth. “Passable, at best,” he said, fanning himself with one hand. “There’s no one here of importance tonight.”

“So we should just head back,” I said, moving to rise from my chair. “Get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”

His grin widened, settling into something that resembled his smug looks from school. “Or, we could stay here. Have some more fun.”

“I wasn’t really having much fun,” I replied primly.

His hand shot out, lightening fast, and grabbed my arm as I tried to stand. “That’s not my fault. Live a little, Weasel. Have a few drinks, come dance with me. I know you want to.”

I felt my ears heat up and flush as my temper rose. Because damn it all, Malfoy was right. And there was no way I could admit it. “I’m working a case, Malfoy, I can’t just go get drunk as shit and fuck around. I’ve got to remain professional.”

“Yeah, sure. I understand,” he said, waving a dismissive hand my way. Then he gave me a sly look, and said, “except...tonight is a write-off. There is no one here with any case-related information. So maybe, just for tonight, you could loosen that Auror collar and get a little wild?”

I could smell the sweet notes of alcohol on his breath as he leaned forward, begging me with beseeching eyes as well as words. He’d already had three or four drinks while I sat nursing my ale. “Fine,” I said, and he leaned back in his chair, looking tremendously pleased with himself. “I’ll have a few drinks. But I’m not dancing.”

“We’ll see,” he replied happily, flagging down a waitress and ordering two drinks in French. The first of many.

Far too many, in fact. We stumbled out of the club, some hours later, tilting precariously towards our hotel. I had a fit of the giggles, and was laughing uproariously at everything Malfoy said. Distantly, I knew I would be immensely embarrassed in the morning, but I just couldn’t stop. Malfoy was snarky and witty, and so very, very fun when I was drunk out of my gourd.

Back at the hotel, Malfoy grabbed me by the shoulders and studied me seriously. “I wish you’d have danced with me,” he said, just a little messily.

Suddenly, more than anything, I wished I would have danced with him too. “Nah, I’m a shit dancer. I’d step all over your toes,” I joked, to downplay the roar of longing that surged inside of me.

“I would have taken care of you,” he replied with sincerity, his voice dropping slightly. And I believed him. I believed he would have taken care of me, and I believed I wanted him to. And that scared me out of my fucking mind.

“I know,” I said, smiling at him. I took a step backwards, towards my room door. Away from his warm grasp. Back into professional territory. “You’re a pretty decent partner.”

He nodded once, seeming resigned. Then his eyes raised to mine once more, and I pulled in a gasp of air at his blazing look. “I know you wanted to. Deep down. I could feel it. I can still feel it.” One more second of fiery gaze, then he was striding off on long, lean legs and disapperating away, presumably to his own room.

“Merlin, I hope he didn’t Splinch himself,” I mumbled to myself. I tried my best to worry about Malfoy’s physical condition, and not his last words to me. About how he could feel my want.

~~~***~~~

The next evening, there was an invitation only chess tournament at the hotel pub. Somehow, Malfoy had gotten us in.

“The entrance fee is extremely high,” he said, flopping down on the small velvet love seat in my suite. Malfoy looked a little worse for wear, clad in a ratty grey Slytherin jumper with the hood pulled up, and black joggers. His thumbs poked through holes at the disintegrating cuffs. “The amount wasn’t specified, so don’t even ask,” he continued, somewhat snarkily.

“Hangover Potion?” I asked mildly. I summoned a bottle from the loo, and handed it to Malfoy, who chugged it gratefully. His face became less green almost instantly, and I felt it safe to say, “I don’t have access to any money. I’m running on fumes here. The hotel suite is paid until the end of the month, but after that...”. I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. But the truth was, I was worried. Time was running out for me to get some real, useful intel.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered.” Malfoy pulled a tiny bag out of the pocket of his hoodie, and unshrunk it. “I made a rather sizeable withdrawal from my trust fund.”

“Malfoy,” I groaned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to. I want to help catch these bastards just as much as you do.”

I smiled at his earnest tone and stubborn expression. “Draco Malfoy, good guy. Who would have thought?”

“Shut the fuck up, Weasel,” he mumbled under his breath, and I smiled further as his cheeks flushed with pride.

It was time to bring up something that had been bothering me. “You’re not doing anything you feel uncomfortable with, are you?” He tilted his head and shot me a questioning gaze. “I mean...like, at the clubs...you’ve been dancing pretty...closely with guys and girls. I hope you’re not putting yourself into situations that are...unsavoury.”

Malfoy gave the most undignified snort. “Unsavoury?” He shook his head. “Weasley, are you trying to discern my sexuality?”

“No”. Maybe. I didn’t know. Merlin, I was confused. “It just seems like you are putting a lot of yourself into this investigation. And the trust withdrawal? What if the Bank notifies your parents, and they discover your location?”

“I’m of age, they better not,” Malfoy replied, looking a little worried. Then he sent me a tense smile, more of a grimace, his teeth clenched tight. “It will all be worth it, if we get something important.”

I just nodded in agreement, and we sat in silence for a few minutes. I started visualizing the chess match, planning strategy, wondering if Malfoy was any good at the game, when he startled me out of my thoughts by saying, “I like both. Witches and Wizards. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Of course not,” I blustered.

“Good.” There was silence again for a moment, before he tentatively continued, “it’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Are people more accepting in France?” I wondered. The Wizarding community in Britain never seemed particularly judgemental.

Malfoy’s hands were knotted on his lap, and he twisted his fingers viciously. “No. It’s my parents, actually. They expect me to marry an appropriate Pureblood witch, and carry on the Malfoy name. Sooner rather than later.”

“But, if you like witches as well as wizards, that doesn’t sound too bad?”

“I don’t want to be married,” Malfoy exploded. “I don’t want to be chained by Pureblood tradition, tied to a boring, vapid ninny of a girl looking to further her bank vaults. I don’t want to be stuck under my parent’s rule, parroting their views, attending frivolous wine tastings and boorish dinner parties.” He sucked in a huge breath of air. “I want to be my own person, make my own way. Live my own life.”

That sentiment rang more true than I would like to admit. I’d been questioning so many things lately. Was I cut out to be an Auror? Did I even enjoy it? Would working in WWW with George, who had begged for my help more than once, be a more suitable fit for me? And, since connecting with Draco Malfoy again, was it possible to be attracted to both birds and blokes?

Apparently, the answer was yes, at least to the last question.

“Do you have a preference?” I spit out, my mouth running away from my brain.

I expected Malfoy to be disgusted by the intrusive question, but instead he looked thoughtful. “Not physically, no,” he said, after a pause. “But I find myself more interested in men lately, if I’m being honest. They are just more upfront, you know? Less likely to be intimidated by it all.”

“Right,” I replied, thinking how nice that sounded. I was utter shit at working out other people’s feelings; it was one of Hermione’s biggest complaints. The ‘upfront’ stuff sounded amazing.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge my own worries, and focused on Draco once more. “But surely your parents would just be glad to have you back home?” I thought of Mrs. Malfoy, stopping by the Auror Corps at least once a month, always with a ridiculous tip or underground whisper of her only son’s whereabouts. Begging us to find him, to bring him home. She withstood the contempt of the Wizarding law-force, just for a chance to find Draco. “Your mother, she misses you. I can’t believe she’d force you into a marriage you didn’t want.”

Something in Malfoy’s face cracked a little. “I miss her too,” he said in a broken voice. “And I love her, despite all the shit that happened at home during the war. But you underestimate how important a Pureblood marriage is in our culture, particularly for a sole heir. So, while I do love her, and my Father as well, to some extent, I’m not going back. Ever. I don’t love anyone enough to make me step foot back in England, and I doubt I ever will.”

There was nothing I could say to that. Instead, I challenged Malfoy to a round of chess, to suss out his ability, which he described as “well above average, what did you expect, Weasley?”. It was almost easy to pretend we were just two blokes, spending an afternoon together, happy in each other’s company.

~~~***~~~

The chess tournament took place in a seedy, disused ballroom at the back of the hotel. “Ready?” Malfoy asked, when I opened the door to his knock at 8:45. He looked cool and confident in a black ringer tee with green trim, and a picture of a chess queen on the front. Bold green letters stated _I’m_ _a_ _Queen_. I gave a huff of laughter, and he smiled back, just a hint of nervousness visible in his expression.

“No, but let’s go anyway,” I stated, trying to match his aura of assurance.

The hulking Wizard lingering outside the ballroom door looked familiar; I had seen him before, in the hotel pub and out clubbing with Draco. “You boys fancy a game of chess?” he asked, his voice laced with mocking. “I’m not sure you can afford it.”

“We can afford it,” Draco replied with a sneer, pulling a bag of Galleons from the leather jacket slung over his arm. “How much?”

I made to grab my matching bag, when the man chuckled, shaking his head, and said, “oh, no. You can’t buy your way in with money. We’ll need something of real value.” Malfoy and I exchanged puzzled looks. “You, Blondie, go talk to my associate over there.” He pushed Draco towards a burly olive skinned man with a remarkable unibrow. “I’ll deal with Ginger.”

“Soooo,” I said, as I watched Malfoy walk away. “I’m just a traveller, from England. I don’t really have anything expensive or precious on me. Getting these Galleons was hard enough.”

“I’m sure your rich boyfriend was more than happy to give you the money,” the man said, with an ugly twist of his lips. “Maybe you could pay your way in by offering one night with Blondie, eh? A lot of people would like a shot with him. He’s quite the tease - all that dancing and flirting, but never following through.”

I glanced over at Draco, who seemed to be having his own disturbing conversation. It was only years of Auror training that allowed me to keep my head. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I stated. “And his body is not mine to gamble with.”

“Pity, on both counts.”  He contemplated me for a moment. “Now, as for the entrance fee, how about I take your wand?”

My mind instantly went into freak out mode. What if they were able to test my wand for previous spells? My cover would be blown for sure. Thankfully, he had turned to his mate, yelling out, “we’ll take their wands for payment, Chuck,” and totally missed my crisis.

“Yup, sounds good, Duke.” Chuck held his hand out expectantly to Malfoy, who was holding his wand cautiously, caressing the base with his thumb. I had noticed him do it a few times before, when he was nervous or unsure.

“Your wand, Ginger,” the thick man in front of me said.

“Before I do, what’s in it for me? What are the prizes?”

“There’s only one winner,” Duke said in a bored tone, like he’d given this speech a thousand times before. “Second and third place leave with their item. First place gets their entrance fee returned, plus twenty five thousand Galleons. Everyone else goes home empty handed.”

Holy shit. “Ok,” I said with false bravado, handing over my wand. “Take good care of her, I’ll need her back in a few hours.”

I caught up to Malfoy. “Merlin’s tits, Weasley, my wand!” he hissed. “I’ve already lost it once, if I lose it again...”

“Well, then we better kick some ass,” I said between clenched teeth.

“I don’t understand, why didn’t they want money? How are they able to pay such a large prize?”

“Money laundering,” I whispered, as I gently pushed Draco into the ballroom. My body was vibrating with excitement. “They are trying to hide the cash they received for the Potion ingredients.” I couldn’t believe I was so close to the ingredient smugglers, and I didn’t have my wand.

There was only one solution. I’d have to play the best game of Wizarding chess since defeating McGonagall’s murder board in first year. Easy peasy.

~~~***~~~

The tournament was limited to eight entrants. We were divided in half, with Malfoy in the opposite group, which was a relief. More chances for us both to come out with our wands.

“Ok, for any of our new members, here’s how it works. You will play each person in your group for a half hour. At the end of that time, the charmed chess board will award you a score, based on pieces lost, pieces won, strategy, cunning, and wit. The two people with the highest score in each group will advance to the semi-finals, where they will play a full game. The winners then go on to compete in the final, for the grand prize. The losers will also play one more match for third place. Any questions?”

There were none, and we started into the speed games immediately. I was used to long, careful matches with loads of time for plotting and scheming, but in a race to win points, that just wouldn’t work. Thankfully, my opponents weren’t overly challenging, and I advanced to the semi-finals, and then the finals, with relative ease.

Malfoy’s group seemed a little more competitive, and he squeaked into the semis by the skin of his teeth. Sadly, he lost his semi-final match, but was able to triumph in the game for third. At least we would both be leaving with our wands.

Many of the eliminated players had left, but a few still hung around, and they joined Malfoy, Duke and Chuck in a loose circle to watch the final match. Draco had pulled his chair up so close, his thigh was touching mine. “No help from the crowd,” Duke said, casting a Silencio charm on the assembled audience and levelling Draco with a hard stare. Then it was just me and my opponent, a young lady with bright purple hair named Evette, in a battle for victory.

It was a gruelling match. Evette was brilliant and reckless, and it was a joy to watch her play. I knew I was in a bit of trouble. Draco chose that moment to grab my knee under the table and gave it a comforting squeeze. I turned to look at him, and he shot me a peppy little ‘you got this’ smile. I grinned back like a bloody lunatic, my heart pounding in my ears and my stomach flipping over. I focused back on the game, looking over the board to make my next move, and felt Draco’s fingers grip harder on my thigh, just above the knee. That simple touch knocked all sense right out of me, and I moved a piece at random.

“Checkmate,” Evette said with a smile, placing her piece into position.

As we went to gather our prizes, Evette tugged on my arm. “Did you deliberately throw the game?” she asked.

“No, I...er...,” Merlin, I was embarrassed! Beefy Duke seemed quite interested in my answer as well, doing a poor job at eavesdropping on our conversation. “My friend, he...uh, grabbed my leg under the table. And I just...I lost all my concentration.”

“Yeah, he’s got that effect on people,” Duke sniggered, giving up all pretence of not listening. “Quite the looker, your friend”.

“He’s not entirely ugly,” I mumbled in agreement. I grabbed my wand, and then rushed to Malfoy, gripping his bicep with my other hand and dragging him from the room.

“We did it,” I said, once we were back in my hotel room. Draco went and sat elegantly on the love seat, while I slid down the door, landing on my arse with a thump. “We got our wands back”.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we broke even. What an accomplishment”.

“What, you didn’t notice Duke and Chuck conducting business the whole time?”

“Might have done,” Malfoy admitted, spinning his wand between his fingers. “But I was kind of hoping you didn’t, and I’d be able to show up one of the Ministry’s bright young stars.”

“You’re a git,” I said affectionately, as I felt my face flush with warmth at Draco’s praise.

“There’s actually something you should know.” I could feel the hesitation in Malfoy’s words. It changed the mood of the room instantly. “It’s sort of how I’ve been able to help you so much.”

Oh, that was interesting. A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. Was Malfoy a spy? Was he undercover? Was he an Unspeakable? Did he work for the French Ministry?

“I’m a Legilimens,” he said.

“Huh?” I replied. Took a second. “Wait, what? You can read minds and shit?” Fucking wicked. “Hold on a second...are you saying...have you been reading my mind?” That wasn’t a very nice thought, actually. “Are you doing it right now?”

“No. No!” Malfoy held his hands up in front of him. “It’s not like that. I mean, I could, if I wanted too, but I’d have to cast the spell first. And you’d feel it, don’t worry.” I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “My aunt taught me, during the war. First she worked with me on Occlumency, and when I excelled at that, we moved on to Legilimency”.

“So,” I said slowly, trying to piece everything together, “how has this helped, if you can’t do it without someone knowing?”

“Well, I’m actually a natural Emotional Legilimens,” he said, avoiding my eyes. I noticed he was rubbing the worn spot on his wand again, and I couldn’t help the fond feeling that rose inside me. “Ok, right now, for instance,” he said, head snapping up to meet my gaze, “you are feeling...a surge of affection.”

I gaped at him like a fish gasping for air, and he laughed awkwardly. “It’s weird, I know, and hard to explain. It’s kind of like...I can sense people’s feelings.”

“Like, all the time? All of them?” Wouldn’t that be totally overwhelming, if you were walking down a crowded street?

“The better I know someone, the clearer it is,” he explained. “It’s getting easier and easier, with you. Or if the emotion is pretty strong, it seems to project in a similar manner. Almost as if I’m being yelled at. So when people are excited, like Duke and Chuck tonight, or nervous, like a few informants at the club, I’m able to sense it, and it helped me narrow down who to focus on, for the investigation.”

While I was glad that Malfoy’s super power had helped us with the case, I also wondered how loudly my ‘feelings’ were yelling at him after watching him dance the other night. Godric, how mortifying.

“You’re conflicted. You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” he asked, watching my face closely.

Was I mad? A little. “I wish you’d have told me sooner.”

“Yeah, me too,” Draco sighed. “I’ve gotten used to keeping it to myself. Aunt Bellatrix thought it was hilarious, and just another indication of what a giant cock-up I was. Mother was horrified. Father told me I was mistaken, and to never speak of it again. So I haven’t. Until now. Until you.”

Right then a little Emotional Legilimency of my own could have come in handy. “The thing is, Malfoy, I trusted you. Unbreakable vow, remember? But it’s glaringly obvious that you didn’t feel that some trust towards me”. And that realization hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. My chest fluttered a little at the apology.

“Let’s call it a night,” I replied. “We’ll meet up tomorrow, as usual, and come up with a plan.”

“Yeah, sure,” Draco replied, his voice resigned. His eyes never left the ground as he paused at the door, and said haltingly, “your regard...it isn’t unreciprocated...just so you know”.

Watching Draco Malfoy walk out of my hotel room, his shoulders slightly hunched and hair a wreck from dragging his fingers through it, was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. But I bit down the urge to call him back, to smooth his hair with my hands, to crush him to my chest and whisper that it didn’t matter, that everything was fine. Instead I popped on an old jumper and pair of joggers and flopped on the bed, hoping sleep would come quickly.

~~~***~~~

It didn’t. My mind was muddled, spinning at a ridiculous speed.

I wish I could say I was kept awake by the new intel we had gained. It would make sense - my career, an important investigation, and the lives of young children were all at stake.

Yet all I could think about was Draco Malfoy. The heat of his hand on my knee. His adorable little smirks. His floppy blond hair and ridiculous slogan shirts. The way my heart raced when Duke called him my boyfriend.

That my regard wasn’t unreciprocated.

I sprung up to a seated position, suddenly alert and clear-headed.

The sprint to Draco’s room took an eternity, and it took a millisecond. I had no plan, no idea what I would say, or what would happen. I only knew that I had already wasted too much precious time. I sucked in a deep, calming breath, and knocked.

I had never pictured Draco Malfoy rumpled and soft. At Hogwarts he had been so stark, so stiff, with his tailored robes and pressed trousers and jet black dress shirts. Like he rose from his bed every day, hair slicked back, every strand in place, and clothes lying perfectly flat on his frame.

The Malfoy that opened his room door was nothing of the sort. His hair was tousled, held up on the crown of his head in a loose top knot, strands of blond silk falling free and framing his face. Worn-looking pyjama pants hung from his hips, slung low and tantalizing. He was still wearing his silly chess shirt. He looked deliciously disheveled. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, a tint of mocking in his tone. I shook my head, unable to answer. Just breathing him in. “Yeah, me either”.

Merlin, I wanted him. And not just for a night. I wanted Draco Malfoy, all to myself, for as long as I could have him. The thought made me gasp out loud, and I saw the wonder breaking over Draco’s face. “Are you gonna make me say it? Or can you just feel what I’m thinking?”

Malfoy’s mouth split into a crooked grin, and he grabbed my wrist, hauling me into his room. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said with amazement.

“I guess I’m braver than you thought.”

“No, you are braver than you thought,” he said. “Your courage was never a secret from me.”

I’d never been so tongue-tied in my life. All I could do was stand there and try to wrap my head around the fact that it was my childhood enemy standing in front of me, making me feel smart and worthwhile. That this man I knew and hated, half a lifetime ago, was now so dear to me. A beautiful person, inside and out. I didn’t know who he was now, at least not well enough. But I was beginning to, and I wanted to, with a longing that started in my gut and burned deep and hot through my bones.

“So, I’m not entirely ugly, hey?” he murmured against my cheek as he slammed my back against the door. His mouth was as close to my skin as it could get without touching.

“You overheard that, huh? You know you’re not,” I breathed back. “I find you quite attractive.”

Malfoy threw back his head, letting out a large laugh. I stared at the smooth, creamy skin of his neck, stretched out and laid bare, begging to be marked. “I’m a little pointy,” he said. “Pointy nose, pointy chin. Not classically handsome.”

“You’re gorgeous,” I said, leaning my forehead against his. It occurred to me that Malfoy might be just as unsure of himself as I was. “Beautiful and smart and cunning. Malfoy, you’re-“

I was cut off when Draco surged forward to press his mouth to mine. My eyes closed automatically, and my arms drifted up to hug his body, to draw him closer.

Malfoy kissed with an all encompassing intensity I hadn’t experienced before.

Lavender had been...enthusiastic. And soggy. Snogging Hermione was nice. Safe. Comfortable, like stepping through the wards at the Burrow.

Kissing Draco Malfoy was like being caught in a summer storm. Unexpected and totally exhilarating. The way the rain pounded down on you, soaking your clothes but leaving you warmer than you anticipated. The thunder, booming, setting your heart racing. And the lightening, illuminating everything, startling you with the aching beauty of its display.

From the moment his lips touched mine, confident and commanding, my body came alive. I could feel my heart beat in my ears, pumping blood through my veins. Every nerve and synapse was singing. And Malfoy was everywhere. His hands were all over me, rubbing my shoulders, caressing my arms, gripping my neck. One hand snaked down, reaching under my jumper to splay on the warm skin of my abdomen. His fingers traced patterns on my stomach, playing with the hair leading down into my joggers.

His tongue licked into my mouth, touching mine with the perfect pressure. I made a desperate little sound in the back of my throat, something that would have embarrassed me with anyone else, but when I pulled away and smiled sheepishly at Draco, he just stared back with fire in his eyes.

He reached out and grabbed the hem of my jumper, pulling it up and over my head in one smooth motion. Before I had time to react, his lips found mine once more, and I was sucked back into the delicious ecstasy that was kissing Draco Malfoy. One hand wrapped around my throat, comforting and possessive, while the other gripped and clutched at my waist, pulling hard enough on the tender skin to leave fingertip bruises behind.

I yearned to touch Malfoy in the same way. To feel his porcelain skin heat up under my caress. I lowered my hands to his hips and let my thumbs circle the protruding bones, before shifting up shyly to slip under his T-shirt. A breathy sigh escaped his lips, and his hand tightened a fraction around my neck. Suddenly all I could think of was getting at Draco, exposing more of his body, pressing myself up against him with no barriers between us. I ripped his T-shirt off, not caring about where it fell or the damage I caused. Just wanting to get my lips back on his, my tongue into the warm, welcoming heat of his mouth, and my chest flush against him, until our heart beats meddled together into one beautiful melody of mutual desire.

I couldn’t get enough of him. The feeling of his body against mine, the hard plains of his muscles under my fumbling hands. The intoxicating smell of mint and sharp spice. And his mouth. Merlin, his mouth. Kissing Draco Malfoy wasn’t a means to an end: it was a main event, in and of itself.

Agile hands left my throat and waist, slipping into my joggers and pushing them and my pants down under my arse. Those long, skilled fingers made their way to my bum, squeezing the cheeks roughly, kneading deep into the flesh. One finger stroked into my crease, rubbing back and forth, teasing my rim with the lightest, briefest of touches. I gasped at the unfamiliar yet not unwelcome sensation of that touch, of offering myself up wholly to someone, nothing kept covered or secret. Striped bare emotionally, and totally at Malfoy’s mercy.

I was burning with hunger, but entirely unsure of how we should proceed. Thankfully Draco took control, and murmured, “have you ever done this before?” while pushing me backwards onto the bed. My back hit the mattress and I bounced a little. Draco grabbed my legs, pulling off my joggers and pants, leaving me naked and on display. His eyes, filled with lust and longing, wandered over my body. I should have felt exposed, but desire ran hot and strong through me, making me bold.

I shook my head, because while I had some experience in the bedroom, it had never been like this before. “Don’t worry,” Draco soothed, tracing light kisses up my thigh. “I’ll take care of you.” The kisses grew in pressure, before turning into playful nips, and then full blown love bites. “Fuck!” I yelled, arching my back off the bed as Draco enveloped his lush mouth around my throbbing prick.

Words couldn’t describe the utter perfection of Draco Malfoy’s mouth.

I kept my eyes clenched shut for a moment, overwhelmed by Malfoy’s warm, wet mouth encasing my cock. He moved slowly, bobbing up and down on the shaft a couple of times, before he pulled off. “Look at me,” he said, low and throaty. My eyes snapped open of their own accord. I would have obeyed any command made by the pretty blond man hovering over top of me, cheeks flushed pink and longish fringe falling rakishly into his eyes. He looked like a depraved angel, and I would have happily followed him into the pits of hell, smiling all the way.

He kept his silver grey eyes locked on mine as he sank his mouth back down on my cock. Fuck, was it erotic, holding his gaze as he sucked me. He began to go deeper, swallowing me further, choking a little until tears glistened in his eyes and dotted his pale lashes. I gripped hard at the sheet with one hand, twisting and pulling until I was sure the fabric would rip. The other I laced into his hair, playing with the strands at his neck and rubbing gently. “So good,” I crooned, and Malfoy hummed around my dick. The vibration was incredible, and he knew it, as I felt him smile with my cock still in his mouth.

He moved up then, wrapping his lips around the head and suckling, while he worked one hand around the base of my shaft, wanking in a smooth rhythm. With his tongue, he licked the head of my dick, working into the slit, pulling at my foreskin gently with his lips. All the while, that lust-filled gaze never left my face. I was so close, so so very close to just tottering right over the edge...

“I’m gonna-“ I said, before Draco cut me off by releasing my cock and sliding up my chest to plant a firm kiss on my mouth.

“No, you’re not,” he said with a sly smile, inching his way back down my body. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I had to grip the base of my dick to keep from coming at the sound of those words, said in such a dirty tone from his bruised, red lips. “Roll over onto your stomach.” It was almost a relief to get away from his hooded gaze, full of emotions and unspoken promises. He pulled me back to the edge of the bed, so my legs were dangling, and propped a pillow under my groin. I ground down on it, delighting in the friction. Malfoy ran his hand down my sweat-slicked back, stroking my waist as he brought his other hand up to steady me. I felt strong hands on my arse, kneading and caressing the flesh and pulling the cheeks apart, and a warm gust of air. Then Malfoy licked a broad stripe over my hole with his talented tongue. The sound that wrenched from my throat could only be described as animalistic.

I wasn’t sure, at first. It felt weird. Wet and odd. No one had ever touched me...there. Why would they? Why would Draco want to, and with his mouth?

After the first few cautious passes of his tongue, the pleasure I felt won out over my nerves, and I might have let out a small moan. Malfoy responded by delving in earnestly, lapping and nipping and thrusting at my hole. And all my worries, my warring thoughts that this was wrong, just fell away. Because it wasn’t, not at all. It was fucking amazing, and so very, very intimate. My most private, hidden part was exposed to Draco, and he was worshipping it, worshipping me. Heat spiked through me, warming my limbs and flushing my skin even more. I rocked back onto Draco’s tongue and forward into the pillow, chasing the heady lust growing in the pit of my belly.

My body’s response seemed to urge Malfoy on, and he brought one long finger up to my rim, stroking the muscle reverently as he continued the assault with his tongue. The tip of his finger pushed into my hole easily, and he ran it around my rim, stretching as he thrust his tongue in deeper. “More,” I gasped. The finger left for a second, only to return a moment later, warm and wet, slicked with lube. Malfoy slid the finger in with no resistance, pumping in and out while still licking my rim. “Yesssss,” I hissed, rocking back onto his finger.

His tongue halted, and I felt his lips curve into a smile on my arsecheek before he kissed me there tenderly. “You like that?” he asked. “My finger feels good stretching you open?”

“Yesssss,” I repeated, canting my hips back faster. Malfoy twisted his finger, hitting something inside of me. My vision clouded over as black spots danced in front of my eyes, and my body was racked with pleasure. “Draco,” I whimpered, and he hit that spot again. “Oh sweet Merlin, Draco. More.”

“More,” he repeated incredulously. There was pressure on my rim as Draco worked another finger inside. I stilled, trusting him to look after me. It burned a bit, on the way in, but after a few pumps it just felt so fucking good. I was full, so full and complete for the first time in my life. I began rocking again, pushing back on his fingers to get them deep inside of me, where no one had ever been before. Malfoy drew a shuddering breath, and uttered, “you have no idea, how good you look. You’re perfect.” I moaned, my body flooding with even more heat at his praise. “Yes, you are perfect, fucking yourself on my fingers,” he said with admiration. “So bloody hot. You make me crazy.”

I sped up, practically impaling myself on Malfoy’s hand. Fuck. “More,” I gasped out again. “More. I want more. I want you inside of me.”

Draco’s hand stopped moving abruptly, but he didn’t pull his fingers out. “Not today,” he said, almost sweetly, planting a kiss at the base of my spine.

“Yes today,” I said, rocking my hips back. “I can do it, I can take it, I want to-“

“Merlin fuck,” Malfoy mumbled, cutting me off, as he twisted his fingers deep inside of me. I cried out as a flare of heat ripped through me again. “Ok, ok. We’ll try. But speak up if it’s too much. Promise?”

“Yes. Yes,” I gasped, willing to promise anything now that I had gotten my way, and Malfoy had resumed stroking into me so cleverly.

“Get up. On your hands and knees,” Draco instructed. My dick throbbed as I recalled the old photo I found in Charlie’s room, under his mattress, of a wizard on all fours, being taken from behind. Back before I was even old enough to understand what was happening, that picture had left me tingly in all the right places. I scrambled to respond to Malfoy’s command.

His fingers slid out of me, and I was disoriented at the loss, my hole clenching around nothing. I felt the bed dip as he slid onto the end behind me. I tensed a little, preparing for what would come next, so I was surprised when Draco wrapped his arms around my chest and whispered, “come here. Sit back.” He guided me up off my hands, pulling me back with strong hands on my chest until my back was flush with his front. He was up on his knees, and he arranged mine to slot around his. I could feel his hard cock, pressed into my cleft, and circled my hips once. We both groaned, and he grabbed my waist, holding me still. Then his hands lifted me up a few inches, and a blunt pressure nudged at my hole. Sweet Merlin, this was it.

The first pop of his cock head past my ring of muscle felt astonishingly good. Then as I sank, inch by inch, down his cock, the burn spread and got more intense. It hurt! Oh my god, the pain, it was searing me up inside. Why did no one talk about this? My own dick was turning flaccid, lying limp on my thigh. I let out a strangled cry as a tear worked out between my lids and fell down my cheek.

“Shhhh, it’s ok,” Malfoy murmured into my ear, stroking one hand up and down my chest while the other still held my waist tightly. “Take some time to adjust. If it’s still too much, we’ll stop.”

His whispered encouragement had me relaxing slightly, and the pain ebbed just a bit. “I’m not sure...” I said.

Malfoy circled his hips once, just the smallest of movements. The pain was still there, but the pleasure was returning, too, pushing it’s way forward. “Do that again,” I said, keeping completely still. Draco complied, circling gently. “Oh, yes,” I groaned, circling my own hips tentatively.

“Let’s just try...” Malfoy said, as he pulled me back a fraction in his lap, changing the angle. And oh, there it was. That sweet, secret little spot inside of me, sending pure bliss coursing through my veins. But now, Malfoy wasn’t hitting it every so often with his fingers. No, now Draco’s prick was pressed right there, providing a constant wave of heat.

I leaned back further, tilting my head back on his shoulder. The angle was a little awkward, but we could just crane our heads to reach each other’s lips. I kissed him frantically. Everything might have been new and overwhelming, but there was one thing I was certain of. Malfoy’s mouth was a miracle, and I wanted to experience as much of it as possible.

Malfoy continued to fuck up into me shallowly, grinding into me, rubbing that nub of nerves constantly. My prick responded in no time, filling back up and slapping against my stomach with every tiny thrust of Malfoy’s hips. I had never felt so close, so connected, to anyone before. Our bodies were joined in the most intimate way possible, but it ran deeper than that. It was the press of bare skin, damp with effort, where my back rubbed against his chest. It was the curl of our tongues, longing to taste each other. It was the locked gaze of two boys desperate for companionship, for completion.

I reached down to touch myself, but Draco got there first. Instead of gripping my cock, he ran his fingers over the skin, skimming with barely-there pressure up and down the shaft, driving me crazy with want. His other hand went to my throat, gripping the side, as he whispered in my ear, “you are doing so well, Weasley. So good, all for me.”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck I was so close, and Malfoy felt so good, stretching me open. “Please...please, touch me.”

“You are perfect, so hot and tight, you are made to take my cock,” Draco continued, and wrapped his fingers around my dick.

“Aauuurgh!” I screamed as Malfoy thrust into me hard, hitting that spot just right. His hand gripped my cock, and that one pump was all it took to finally push me off the knife’s edge. I closed my eyes and let the glorious spasms of pleasure flood my body. My hole clenched and clutched around Malfoy’s cock still inside of me. Through my haze of satisfaction, I distantly noted his tightened grip on my waist, the way his fingers dug into my flesh, and his needy moans in my ear as he flooded my insides with warmth.

I might have blacked out a little: I’m sure I did, because the next thing I remembered, I was lying flat on my back, Malfoy looming over me with a nervous look in his eyes. “Salazar, Ron! Are you ok?”

I took a deep breath. “Bloody fucking brilliant,” I replied, as a huge smile crept over my face.

Draco’s answering smile was one I’d never seen before. Full of pure, radiant happiness. It was glorious, splitting his face wide, showing his gleaming white teeth, with just a hint of a crooked bottom canine visible. That little flaw endeared him to me even more. I reached out and pulled him to me, and he snuggled back into my chest, acting as the little spoon.

“Rest up, Weasel,” he said, and I could hear the grin on his voice as he ground his pert arse back onto my prick. “It’s your turn to fuck me next.”

~~~***~~~

Somehow, those childish names, thrown in aggressive anger as insults in our boyhood, became loving terms of endearment. When I was wrapped in Draco’s arms, sharing secrets and worries and concerns for the future, it was always ‘Ferret’ that I whispered passionately in his ear. When Draco snuck up behind me and hugged my waist, poised on his tiptoes to press a kiss on my neck, it was always ‘Weasel’ he mumbled into my burning skin.

True to his word, the next morning I found myself spooned around Draco, my cock sheathed inside his body. There was so much unspoken trust between us, I wanted to weep. It was unlike anything, any relationship, I’d ever had before. I’d never felt so comfortable in my own skin.

I thrust lazily into Draco’s welcoming heat, letting my hands wander over his chest and stomach and waist, pulling delightful hitches and gasps from his sensuous mouth. I took one delectable earlobe into my mouth, and sucking hard, said “I love this”.

Malfoy moaned long and hard. His sweat-slick hand grabbed mine and brought it to his cock, lying twitching on his thigh. “I’m so close,” he whispered. I kept my eyes wide open this time, and the scene I witnessed would be forever burnt into my brain. My freckled hand wrapped strong around Draco’s cock, pumping him in time to my thrusts and his eager hip rolls back onto my dick. Draco’s eyelids fluttering, his body tensing up and then turning soft and pliant as he spilled onto my hand and the sheets below. His languid smile as my own orgasm hit, filling him up even more.

I loved that smile, and I couldn’t help but roll Draco over and cover his mouth with mine. His lips were a miracle. I spent as much time as he would allow licking and nibbling and sucking into his mouth.

After that, we got down to work.

I decided to send a Patronus with the pertinent details directly to Harry. I’d never had one travel such a distance before, so I didn’t know what to expect.

After about a week, just as I was starting to get antsy, Harry’s stag Patronus startled Draco and I by shoving his enormous antlered head into the shower and speaking in Harry’s fast-paced voice, “we are moving on the ingredient smugglers tonight. Get to the station as soon as possible. Tickets for a Muggle train to Amsterdam are waiting in locker 29. Members of the Dutch Ministry will meet you there and get you home.”

I stood rigid in shock, my soapy hands wrapped around Draco from behind, splayed out over his chest. The rhythm of his heart increased in tempo, perfectly mirroring my own agitation.

“Well,” he drawled, spinning around to plant a quick yet firm kiss on the corner of my mouth, “it sounds like we are going to Amsterdam.”

I dropped my head on his shoulder. “We?” I asked hesitantly, trying not to get overly hopeful.

“Yes, we,” Malfoy huffed, feigning annoyance. “You big brute, did you think I would let you travel alone? Plus, I’m in danger if I stay here. I hear Amsterdam is nice this time of year...” he trailed off casually, but the increased pressure of his arms around my waist disclosed the depths of his emotions.

“Alright,” I said, with way more confidence than I felt, “let’s go to Amsterdam.”

~~~***~~~

The train ride passed swiftly. Entirely too swiftly for my liking. I knew what would happen when we arrived in Amsterdam. I’d go back to Britain, get pulled into working night and day to solve this case, while Draco would remain behind, building a new life for himself.

Maybe...was there a hope that after the dust settled, that we could...that Malfoy and I...? That even if he refused to return home, I could visit him, wherever he decided to travel?

I pushed that rebellious thought to the side in favour of fully enjoying the remaining time I had with Draco.

That train ride included some of the best hours of my life, spent with Draco Malfoy’s head on my lap, my fingers winding through his soft hair. We traded warm, sweet kisses, full of emotions neither of us felt comfortable to name. We didn’t speak of the future. Instead, we clasped hands and smiled at each other and stroked each other’s skin. My hands found his face, mapping out the curve of his jaw and the ridge of his brow, tracing my touch onto his body again and again until my mind was screaming with possessiveness.

Draco let out a choked sob and grasped my hand, stilling it and bringing it to his chest. “You can feel it, can’t you? My...” My what, exactly? My...love?  Because surely that’s what this was.

“I can hear it,” he whispered, eyes screwed shut tight. “I swear, I can hear your thoughts, Weasel.”

“And what are they saying?” I asked, chest aching.

“ _Mine_ ,” he answered shakily. “ _Forever_ _mine_ ”.

“Yes”. There was nothing else to say. No matter what happened, Draco Malfoy would always be mine. I bent down and kissed each closed lid, tasting the saltiness of the tears Draco was desperately trying to hold back. “My Ferret”.

~~~***~~~

We must have looked a wreck when we stumbled onto the platform. Thankfully, the Amsterdam officials were consummate professionals, and led us to the Dutch Ministry in silence, no questioned asked.

Once inside their Auror office, a smiling woman with a thick accent identified herself as Chief Bakker, their Head Auror. “An International emergency portkey has been arranged. You and your partner will be transported directly to your Ministry.”

“No,” I shouted, fear turning my insides cold. “This man isn’t my partner.” Bakker’s smile slipped slightly. “No, I mean, he is my partner,” I rushed on, not wanting to get Malfoy into legal trouble, “but he’s not taking the portkey. He’ll be staying here.”

Draco gripped my lower arm, effectively putting a halt to my rambling. “I’m taking the portkey,” he assured Chief Bakker.

She nodded smartly, and passed him an old, rolled up Dutch clothing catalogue. With a glance at the clock on the wall, she stated, “it leaves in two minutes. Be prepared. And please let Minister Shacklebolt know that it was my extreme pleasure to aid a foreign Ministry with such an important investigation”.

The clicking of her heels as she disappeared down the hall seemed to sync up with the ticking of the clock, providing the only sound in the small space.

“Grab the portkey,” Malfoy said, somewhat roughly.

“No,” I said, finally snapping out of it. “You’re not going back. You don’t want to go back”.

“Grab. The. Portkey,” Draco ground out. He threw his arms up in exasperation. “I’m holding it, are you going to send me back there by myself?”

The portkey was shoved towards me again, and I laid my fingertips on it gently. “But...you said...you would never go back”.

Draco smiled at me sadly. “Oh, Weasel. There was never-“

Malfoy’s words were cut off by a hook in the navel feeling, followed by an eternity of spinning.

We landed in a heap in Auror Robbard’s office. I jumped to my feet first, extending a hand down to help haul up Draco. Someone gasped behind me. “Is that Draco Malfoy?” an excited voice asked. “I’ll alert his parents immediately”.

“No,” I screamed, for the third time that day. And again, my protest went unheeded. Robbards was pushing me one way, voice full of excitement and chomping at the bit to hear my testimony. Draco was being pulled another way, presumably to be held until his parents showed up. “No, don’t take him! Draco’s been helping me! He’s important to the investigation. Please”.

“And he can join us after the Malfoys have been informed of his return. They have been searching for so long, we must not keep them from reuniting with their son for even a moment longer than necessary”.

It sounded plausible, but I knew, in my heart, that if I let Malfoy go now, he might never be mine again. But there was little I could do, and I watched his silvery blond head be led away in a sea of chatter, as I was steered into a conference room.

A short time later, Lucius Malfoy stalked into the room, Draco following in his wake. His kitschy runners and slim jeans had been replaced by well-cut black robes, buttoned right up to his throat. His hair was tied back at his nape with a black ribbon, a style I had never seen him wear. He looked distressingly like his father. “My son is distraught,” Lucius boomed, fixing us all with a fierce glare. Draco met my eye for a brief moment and rolled his, before breaking contact. “He will not be held here at the Ministry to help in some little crime investigation. If you need to speak to him, send an owl. Come, son, we are leaving,” and with that the Malfoy men swept out of the room, leaving us all open mouthed and at a loss.

“Uh....Auror Weasley? Ronald? Can you fill us in on Malfoy’s role in your part of the investigation?” Robbards asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

~~~***~~~

In the coming weeks, I tried to contact Draco over and over and over again. Every single owl was returned, every message smuggled to Malfoy Manor by a bribed elf or former school-mate unanswered. Even requests sent on my official Ministry DMLE stationary were answered to Auror Robards. Malfoy had shut me out of his life. And while I wasn’t surprised, I was still cut to my very core.

There was one article in The Daily Prophet, proclaiming ‘ _Malfoy_ _Heir_ _Found_ ’, and then nothing. Draco Malfoy disappeared from my life entirely.

I did a lot of soul searching in that time.

Thanks to our intel, the French ingredient smugglers were captured. It was a big break in the case, and the rest of the operation quickly unravelled.

I received an Order of Merlin, Third Class for my efforts. With it came further fame and recognition, the kind I had craved growing up, independent of my friendship with Harry Potter. My lack of excitement at such glory pushed me towards a decision I had been pondering for a while. I left the Auror corps, accepting employment with George at WWW.

I’d been at my new position for almost two months when I saw Draco again. It was just a photo in the Prophet, but my heart still sped up and my stomach flipped over. He was at an elite History of Wizarding party, a pretty girl on his arm. The couple smiled charmingly at the camera, and Draco’s date gave a little wave. The warmth in my belly quickly turned to icy lead. My head swivelled about madly, looking for an escape route. Instead I saw a regal owl swoop into the shop and offer me a rolled piece of parchment, sealed hastily with green wax and the letters _DM_.

 _Meet_ _me_ _behind_ _the_ _shop_ _at_ _noon_.

There was no signature, but it didn’t matter. Even if I hadn’t recognized Draco’s fancy handwriting, I’d still have known it was from him. I’d been waiting for this correspondence for weeks.

I went about my daily business, trying to remain professional. When the appointed time rolled around, I yelled out to George, “just gonna pop into the alley for a bit of fresh air”.

George looked at me, and I swear, there was sympathy in my trickster brother’s gaze. He eyed the parchment crumpled in my hand, where I had held it all morning. With a sorrowful grin he said, “sure, Ronnie. Take your time.” Maybe I hadn’t been as good at hiding my distress as I thought.

Draco was waiting for me when I stepped out the back door. He was a strange mixture of Hogwarts Malfoy and French Draco - his hair was loose and soft, and he has his tattered Vans on his feet, but he was wearing stifling black robes once again. A hundred thoughts ran through my mind - _smile, say hi, run to him, hug him, smack him, turn around and walk away, laugh in his face -_ and it was so overwhelming I just stood there and stared _._

I knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth. “I’m getting married.” His voice was strong and sure, and his features set with determination. Only his eyes betrayed him, the slightest hint of hesitation and sadness visible in his gaze. No one else would have noticed, because no one else knew Draco like I did. They would only see the perfect Pureblood stoic expression. I saw what that expression was hiding.

I nodded as I fought back the crushing sense of loss that flooded my body. How could one person feel so much? The devastation and sorrow was so heavy, I wondered if anyone had ever died, suffocated by their anguish. From somewhere I found the resolve to respond, “congratulations, Draco. I wish you a lifetime of health and happiness.”

“I wish the same for you,” he replied. His eyes slid from mine, and his perfect mask fell, revealing the cracked, broken boy underneath. He whispered, “and I do wish things were different.”

I reached out for him then, unable to hold myself back, although I knew it was a futile gesture. His eyes snapped up to mine, the practised look of aristocracy in place on his face once more, and he took a step back. I let my arm fall awkwardly to my side.

“Goodbye, Weasel.”

“Goodbye, Ferret,” I replied with a watery smile. I was seconds away from a total breakdown. Thankfully Draco turned on his heel and marched away, disapperating after only a few strides. He never saw me fall to my knees, my face grasped in my hands, while tears of bitterness and regret and lost love streamed down my cheeks.

George found me a while later, slumped against the brick wall, totally worn out. “Come on, Ron,” he said gently, hoisting me to my feet by my underarms. “Life goes on. You will survive this. You’ll see.”

As if I had any other choice.

~~~***~~~

September 1, 2017 - Platform 9 3/4

I can’t stop staring, so I point him out, to draw attention from myself. “Look who it is.”

Draco’s glance over at us is fleeting and perfunctory, with the curtest of nods, before he refocuses on his wife and child. Does he remember any of it? Does it consume his soul, almost two decades later, leaving him longing and achy? Does he even care?

I make a silly, flippant remark, which is what I do best in stressful situations. “So that’s little Scorpius. Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother’s brains.”

Of course, Hermione reams me out, and I crack another stupid joke. Then James shows up, and the conversation moves away from Draco Malfoy.

I know I should be concentrating. Spending these last precious moments with my daughter, before she heads off to school and I don’t see her for months.

But I can’t. I’ve slipped back in time, eighteen years, to an eager, hard body, slick with sweat. To bruises dotting my neck, my chest, my inner thighs, made by a wicked mouth and gripping, grasping fingers. To the stretch of my thighs as they are pushed apart, inhumanly far, the burn breathtaking and glorious. To fingers digging into flesh, kneading and searing and marking.

I dug my own fingers into those bruises, when I realized it was over. To make it real, and to make it last. To not lose the only piece of him I had left, however small. But even then, they faded, with time.

Why hadn’t my feelings faded, like those blue-black bruises? My tender skin healed. Knitted itself up fresh, carried on as if nothing happened. Why couldn’t my heart do the same?

Draco is probably happy. He looks it, smiling at his immaculate blonde wife and his mirror image offspring. The perfect little family.

I remember. I remember everything, every word, every look, every stolen moment. Every bruise and bite and tender kiss. Every whispered promise. Does he?

Hermione elbows me as the doors of the train start slamming shut. Albus scrambles to get into a carriage, looking hesitant and fearful. “Why are they all staring?” He’s so unlike his brother James, and his happy-go-lucky Weasley cousins. Albus reminds me a bit of myself, in fact, and I’m a little anxious for him.

“Don’t let it worry you. It’s me. I’m extremely famous.” My statement gets the response of laughter I hope for. The kids are off, for better or worse. A strange sense of melancholy hits me. It’s out of place, this feeling of wistfulness. Brought on by the memories of a few stolen weeks, years ago.

From the corner of my eye, I see Draco lean down and whisper something in his wife’s ear. She pats his arm, a worried look on her face, and he’s walking away. Striding towards us, in fact, on those long, lean legs. He’ll be with us in no time. Hermione and Ginny have wandered off already, leading Hugo and Lily away with promises of ice cream. I wish Harry’d gone with them.

Then Draco is right in front of me, solid and real for the first time in forever. His hair is a little thinner, and his face has a few wrinkles, but it doesn’t matter. This is Draco, my Draco, standing a foot away. He still smells the same - of mint and fresh air and some unknown, exotic spice that has my heart thumping hard in my chest.

“Potter,” he says deferentially, dropping another brief nod at Harry. He turns his focus solely on me, his eyes blazing, raking my face. I have no idea what he finds, what my expression hints at, but he smiles slightly, just the smallest upturn of his lips, and says, “Weasley,” while thrusting out his hand. I grasp it automatically, and bite back a gasp at the surge of want that runs through me at his touch.

He’s not letting go. Does Harry think it’s weird that Malfoy’s still gripping my hand? “Maybe our children will turn out to be friends,” he is saying to Harry. He smiles at me once more, that private smile that was only for me, no trace of calculation or plotting, just pure, innocent happiness. As he pulls his hand away, I feel a sliver of parchment left behind in my palm.

“Not bloody likely,” Harry murmurs under his breath, as Draco rejoins his wife and makes his way off the platform. “Let’s catch up to the girls and go for ice cream, yeah?”

I nod, and smile, and mumble something while pointing to the loo just outside the entrance to platform 9 3/4. I need to be alone, just for a moment. Long enough to look at what Draco has given me.

Inside the stall, I unroll the scrap of parchment, reading Draco’s message. My legs can no longer hold me up, and my arse thumps down heavily on the toilet. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Written in Malfoy’s elegant script are eight words guaranteed to shatter my tattered heart into a million irreparable pieces.

 

 _Weasel,_  
_I_ _care_  
_I_ _remember_  
_Forever_ _yours_ ,  
_Ferret_

~~~***~~~

The end


End file.
